


Wedding

by KINGBeerZ



Series: An Elf, A Dwarf and A Man [3]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Backstory, F/M, Family, Family Fluff, Ferelden, He's an archer named Fletcher GET IT!?, Nobility, Pre-Canon, Uncreatively named warden, Weddings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-19
Updated: 2017-11-19
Packaged: 2019-02-04 07:46:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12766353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KINGBeerZ/pseuds/KINGBeerZ
Summary: The Teyrnir of Highever lies on the Northern Coast of Ferelden. It is one of only two Teyrnirs remaining in the country, and as such the noble Cousland family who preside over it are some of the most powerful individuals in the nation of Ferelden. The family has a peculiar and storied history, starting with a grieving witch murdering her husband, continuing with a valiant Bann driving werewolves from their land and the eventual bending of the knee to King Calenhad during the unification of Ferelden. Although during the middle of Bloomingtide in 9:19 Dragon the family was celebrating an altogether different occasion, the wedding of their eldest son, Fergus Cousland.A young Fletcher Cousland has to endure through his brother's wedding day. The introduction of the final of the three wardens for my major upcoming fic.





	Wedding

**Author's Note:**

> Whooeee, this really was a hard one for me, trying to get the character of Fletcher to come across right, and get the scenario done well was something I really struggled with here, I really hope it turned out well though and I hope everyone reading this finds it to be engaging and enjoyable. If you liked it or would like to ask me about the fic or my plans for my upcoming major work please leave a comment, I would love some feedback. Thanks again to Ray_Murata for all their encouragement and help in writing this fic!

The Teyrnir of Highever lies on the Northern Coast of Ferelden. It is one of only two Teyrnirs remaining in the country, and as such the noble Cousland family who preside over it are some of the most powerful individuals in the nation of Ferelden. The family has a peculiar and storied history, starting with a grieving witch murdering her husband, continuing with a valiant Bann driving werewolves from their land and the eventual bending of the knee to King Calenhad during the unification of Ferelden. Although during the middle of Bloomingtide in 9:19 Dragon the family was celebrating an altogether different occasion, the wedding of their eldest son, Fergus Cousland. 

Fletcher drew back his hunting bow, carefully arching his back as he had been instructed, the muscles of his shoulder and lower back working to move the string of the weighty bow (at least weighty by the standards of a twelve year old boy). He huffed a breath upwards to blow a distracting strand of jet black hair from his eyes. Lining up his target he let the arrow fly, and promptly stomped the ground in frustration as his arrow buried itself a ring out from the bullseye. 

“Damn wind,” he muttered irately, moving closer to examine the target, “must have blown my shot off target.” Harshly he gripped the arrow near the base, where the head had embedded deep into the tightly packed and painted straw of the target. With a few sharp yanks he managed to dislodge it. He began to move towards one of the other half dozen arrows stuck in the target when a nervous voice called to him.  
“My Lord Cousland.” It jittered, Fletcher rolled his eyes before turning around. The voice who interrupted him belonged to one of the elven servants. Hadin or something, he could never remember all the weird elven names for the life of him, luckily it didn’t really matter. Still he found himself rather peeved at the interruption to his practice, and let his annoyance show in the look he gave the unfortunate elf.  
“What?” He ground out.  
“Your Mother- the Lady Teyrna asked for you, she said that you needed to get ready for the wedding.” The elf’s words came quickly, tumbling over each other in his nervousness. Fletcher groaned loudly, making the elf look distinctly uncomfortable, the damn wedding was all anyone had talked about for weeks. Fergus acting all spoony for his new wife to be, Mother getting all teary eyed at her ‘little boy growing up’, Father at least hadn’t started acting obsessed. Sure, great for Fergus getting married, but did everything in life have to be about the wedding? Fletcher tossed his bow to the elf.  
“Clean all this up, I’ll go see Mother.” The elf stuttered out a respectful reply as Fletcher strode away. 

Fletcher calmly made his way into the halls of the castle from the training yard. At all times the home of the Couslands exerted a sense of honour and strength through its solid stone framework. Fletcher always felt a definite sense of pride walking through the ancient hold. A connection to a family that stretched back through the ages, strong and immovable as Ferelden itself. Today however the castle had taken on a unique aspect through the silken ribbons draping from walls, and the bouquets of flowers irregularly spaced throughout the halls. A new sense of life and colour was poured into the antique stone castle. Although Fletcher could certainly do without being slapped in the face by ribbons whenever he moved from one room to the next. 

Assuming his mother to be in the family quarters he swiftly proceeded through the castle, servants scattering to respectfully make way for him. Along the way several visiting nobles greeted him politely, he exchanged quick pleasantries with them before leaving to continue on the search for his mother. As predicted he found her in her’s and Father’s room. She was already fully dressed, an elegant yet simple gown of greens and whites complemented by a golden necklace from which a single diamond hung. Her hair was done in an elaborate bun and piled high atop her head. Teyrna Eleanor Cousland had spared no effort in preparing for the wedding of her first born.  
“Fletcher dear, why are you not yet dressed?” She despairingly asked. Fletcher started to answer before she interrupted.  
“No, I can guess, you were practicing,” her eyes flicked up and down his fairly simple attire, “no matter you need to prepare now. I’ve had the servants draw a bath in your chambers, and I’ve lain out your clothes for today’s celebrations.” She added. Fletcher sighed in exasperation.  
“I know this isn’t the most exciting day for you, but it is very important to your brother, can you please make the effort to at least act enthused, for Fergus.” She pleaded with a forced smile. Fletcher reflected with annoyance on the dastardly persuasive powers of mothers.  
“Fine, I guess.” He gave her a fake smile, and she returned it with a more genuine one.  
“If nothing else, I’m sure you’ll enjoy the reception, Nan’s had the staff whipping up a truly marvelous feast.”  
“I’m sure it will be great Mother.” He waved back to her as he exited the room. Great for the whole thing to finally be over, he reflected. Just one day.

Entering his room he saw that a bath had indeed been drawn for him, he stripped his clothes and left them in the hamper at the end of the bed before gratefully sinking into the warm water of the tub. He took a good twenty minutes of scrubbing off the dirt from the training yard and enjoying the feeling of the heat on his sore muscles. When the bath started to cool he decided it was best time to get changed into his attire for the wedding. He had been provided with the finest of attire, deep blue trousers tucked into high black boots of supple leather. And a white silken shirt with a high collar and puffed sleeves overlain with a velvet waistcoat of deep blue, bearing a vibrant green laurel wreath on the front, the emblem of the Couslands. Fletcher had to admire the dashing figure he cut in the mirror, and take the time to tidy a few disobedient strands of hair before proceeding back into the rest of the living quarters. He shortly met up with his mother. Who gave him a grateful smile.   
“Oh darling, you look very handsome.” She cooed. Fletcher tilted his chin up at the praise, he believed himself to look quite gallant.   
“Thank you Mother.” He gratefully accepted the praise. He offered her his arm to walk to the great hall where the proceedings were to take place, she gave him a smile of approval at the manners and let him lead her forth. 

Leading his Mother to the Great Hall he once again felt the eyes of many of the nobles littering the halls dwelling upon him, Fletcher simply raised his chin and continued on. Some Bann sidled up to the pair as they walked through the halls.  
“Your Ladyship you look beautiful today.” He simpered.  
“I thank you kindly for the complement, Bann Marcus.” She replied lightly, however Fletcher could see a slight tension on her face.  
“This certainly is quite an occasion, the wedding of one’s firstborn always does bring forth a surge of pride and melancholy in us parents. Still I must wonder the wisdom of such a match.” He looked to the Teyrna for a response which she refused to grace him with.   
“I, as well as many here would gladly have wed our daughters to your son, and yet you have arranged a match for him with an Antivan. Of wealth, yes, but bereft of titles.” Fletcher saw his mother take a visible breath to calm herself before responding.  
“I arranged nothing, it was by Fergus’ own choice that he is engaged to Oriana. I believe many of us in the nobility can give too little credence to our children’s feelings, allowing him to marry for love will promise a stronger union, and a more satisfying one.” She intoned. Fletcher thought that Fergus seemed happy, annoyingly so with the way he practically drooled over Oriana whenever they were in the same room. Maybe half the reason most nobles have arranged marriages was to avoid that very problem. Bann Marcus dipped his head in deference, but still looked distinctly annoyed.   
“Of course your Ladyship, I’m sure we’ll see the wisdom of your choice with time.” He sauntered away from the mother son pair.   
“That’s the fifth man who’s approached me with that same complaint today.” She muttered to her son.  
“We could always call the wedding off,” Fletcher returned, his mother looking shocked until he added “and then chase all the guests off with padded arrows.” Which brought a chuckle from her.  
“As much as they are insulting and annoying us we must be genial… sadly.” With this the pair finally reached the doors of the great hall. Like the rest of the castle the doors were lavishly decorated for the wedding. One of the guards stepped forth and opened the great wooden doors to admit the Teyrna and her son. 

Inside the great hall a series of wooden pews had been set up filling the great hall, as yet they remained empty with only the groom, his and the bride’s families, and Mother Mallol yet in attendance. Said priestess was in a discussion with Fletcher’s father. His mother removed her hand from his arm and began walking over to join the conversation. Fletcher took this opportunity to look around, spotting Fergus on the opposite side of the hall fiddling with his cuffs, he made to approach his older brother. 

Fergus similar to Fletcher was wearing Cousland colours and had their family crest emblazoned across his chest. His clothes naturally were more ostentatious as he was the groom. He even wore a shining gold circlet amongst his deep brown hair and thick velvet cape (again displaying the family crest) across his broad shoulders to accentuate his outfit. Their father had always said that Fergus had the build of a great warrior and with his rugged good looks he had often caused many young women to swoon (often straight into his bed). Fletcher wondered if his bride to be knew about Fergus’ frequent conquests, she might have forbidden them, he mused, for since the engagement Fletcher had not noticed his brother ever taking a woman back to his quarters.   
“Trouble getting dressed Fergus? Want me to get mum to do it for you?” He snarked as he approached his brother who was now fiddling with his collar. Fergus made a rude gesture in Fletcher’s direction.  
“Shove off big nose.” He retorted, Fletcher’s hand unconsciously went to his nose… it wasn’t _that_ big.   
“Nervous about getting hitched then? No more romps as a bachelor for you.” He taunted, Fergus merely sighed dreamily.  
“With her, I don’t think I’ll miss it. No woman could compare. You’ll understand one day when you’re in love.” Fergus breathed wistfully.   
“Still you’re lucky you’ll have the family name Fletcher, don’t think you’ll have much to draw the ladies otherwise.” Fergus gave his younger brother an obnoxious grin as he said this, causing Fletcher to shove at him in irritation. A short scuffle ensued which ended with Fletcher stuck in a headlock.

“Say uncle.”  
“Never, you prat!”  
“Boys, is this any way to behave right before the wedding?” Eleanor’s voice broke through the scuffle and they hastily broke apart, both having the good sense to at least look contrite. The brothers were pinned under the Teyrna’s piercing gaze for a minute before she relented and moved to smooth the new wrinkles out of her sons’ clothes.   
“Honestly, the pair of you are worse than your father.” She muttered in irritation.   
“Oh I don’t know about that dear. Didn’t I show up to our wedding with my shirt on backwards?” Bryce Cousland interjected playfully. His wife gave him a taste of the stare she just had finished using on her sons.  
“And with two different boots on. But we don’t need our son making the same mistakes.” The Teryn gave a laugh at her comment yet still relented to her judgement.   
“There, perfect.” She declared as she adjusted Fergus’ circlet slightly.   
“I would have been quite fine on my own.” He chuckled, the Teyrna sent him a dubious look.  
“Told you I should have gotten mum to fix it.” Fletcher whispered to his brother with a smirk, who gave him a firm punch in the arm the second their mother looked away. Fletcher was still rubbing it when the call came for all present to be seated for the beginning of the ceremony.   
“I’m so proud of you my dear son.” Eleanor said enveloping her son in a full hug.   
“I know the two of you will have many years of happiness.” Teryn Cousland told his son as he pulled him into an embrace. Fletcher gave Fergus an awkward one armed pat on the back-hug hybrid.  
“Many happy wishes and good luck, and all that stuff.” He mumbled. Fergus gave them all a grand smile before heading to stand before the altar and await his bride’s entrance. 

Fletcher and his parents took seats of honour in the front row. A quartet of strings began to play a stately yet romantic legato tune as the bride entered from outside the hall. Oriana practically guided down the aisle, a vision in ivory silk suspended amongst gently falling rose petals. Upon looking to see his fiancé enter the room a Fergus beamed brightly at her, with a more restrained smile being returned. Yet the two never broke eye contact until they stood face to face in front of Mallol. 

Fletcher shifted uncomfortably in his seat as the priestess began her pontification about the beauty and virtue of love, and what a beautiful gift from the maker it was. Fletcher wished the maker had gifted people with more comfortable chairs. His squirming earned him a reproachful look from his mother, forcing him to sit still and endure the discomfort. Fergus began delivering his vows, promises to love and cherish his dear wife for all their days. To always provide for her and their future family. Fletcher contented himself once more with the thought that the wedding would only last this one day. But had to stifle a groan as he thought of the reception and the prattling nobility that was to follow. He settled back into his seat preparing himself for the rest of the surely long and tiring day.


End file.
